So They Hit An Asteroid: Now What?

Unless you've been sleeping, you should have caught the news that we (Americans) have sent a satellite into space with the aim of hitting a small asteroid. It did hit. They call it "proof of concept". So what? 

We've known since we landed on the moon that we can send things to other bodies in space, bodies in predictable motion. The moon, Mars, both have been graced with our space junk. Of course we call it something much more noble than that, but the fact is these things have a limited ability or move and send back information, eventually just sitting where they died, littering the surface of another body in space. Hence, space junk. We have no care for what we may have sent along with them. Microbes? Radiation? Dismissed as irrelevant. Inconsequential. We are the important ones, so who cares? Those bodies are huge, so our little pieces of detritus have no consequence. They don't support life as we know it, so no life was harmed. But how can we know that?

Even if they are right, this was different. We sent something crashing into a tiny (relatively) body in a known orbit, as step one of the goal of disrupting an asteroid's orbit and destroying it's theoretical potential for it to someday crash into us. Seems noble, right? We know something similar crashed into the Yucatan about 63 million years ago, changing life on this planet spectacularly, and not to the benefit of what was then a stable ecosystem planet wide.  In other words, it killed off what we know as dinosaurs. Major extinction event. Everything died, right? 

Wrong.

First, it changed the megafauna on the planet. This is not the moon, airless and lifeless. We still have life here. Obviously, right? We have finally figured out the dinosaurs have descendants alive out there. They fly by your windows nearly every day and are called birds. We also know that small mammals survived, and evolution has had 63 million years to produce us. Now we are the top of the food chain, if you will, and want to keep it that way, though we're doing a piss-poor job of that, being well on our way to internally producing the next major extinction event, no asteroids needed this time, thank you very much. 

But we humans love to fight the last war instead of the current war, so go looking for another possible asteroid threatening to crash into this planet and unsettle everything again, meaning us this time. Of course this is a very possible threat. We hope we have the technology to avert this particular disaster. It's such a popular threat that we make blockbuster movies showing ourselves doing it successfully. So we start with baby steps, sending a small launch to a known small asteroid just to prove we can impact it. Easy peasy.

I'm just waiting to hear what else happened in that impact. It would have been a small effect. But in our rush to prove ourselves, did we look at exactly what that would have been? Or did we assume it was zero? Because, you know, it's very easy to assume when one means no harm, one causes no harm. But what about that tiny push? Was an orbit changed minutely? After all, our eventual goal is to change an asteroid's orbit much more than minutely in order to deflect contact with us. We know how much damage can be done. Earth is too huge for its orbit to be changed by something so little. But we didn't aim at something huge, we aimed at something miniscule in space terms. Perhaps we learn its orbit was changed by an amount we can only measure 20 years from now? Or 300 years from now, should we still have a civilization able to measure such things? What if we disrupted it by enough that in tens of thousands of years it changes enough to get distorted by another body, and eventually another body, and so on until we made just what we most fear, something crashing into us?

We won't be here to worry about that of course. That doesn't mean it can't have happened. Maybe not this time. But it's our goal, changing an orbit, right? All I hear is, "Wow! Look at what we can do!" I want to hear that somebody did the math and did it right. We don't need any more unintended consequences from our hubris in thinking because we can we should... (insert any action here.)

Of course the odds of creating a catastrophe from this launch are extremely tiny. But we won't be stopping here, will we? How about the next ones, where we progress to bigger and badder, throwing in nukes for example to blast something apart as the next proof of concept? Do we really believe we have somebody doing the math correctly? Are there enough known factors to be able to do so in something like such a deliberately destructive explosion? Or are we just thinking that because Hollywood reassured us with its special effects "success", we can and should be doing this at all?

Just one more comment, possible refuting every point I just made. You should have heard of the "butterfly effect" by now.  I've always had a problem with it. It states as part of chaos theory that the flapping of a butterfly's wings in one place can set up a chain of events leading to a hurricane in another place. Summarize it as tiny things have big consequences. My problem is that in every step of the way, there has to be an increased energy input. I can't accept that. I think of a pool table, the opening shot sending balls in all directions. Each impact tends to damp energy rather than increase it. All the balls quickly stop. If I have my physics right, it's call entropy. A butterfly effect as commonly explained would make each ball go faster, bounce in more directions, and pretty soon everybody in that room would be injured and/or dead from the impacts! We know that doesn't happen or nobody would be playing the game.

I still just want to know we are proceeding thoughtfully.

Rebound!

So, I tested negative Thursday, the 22nd. Finally! First symptoms the 2nd, fever the third, positive test and ER trip for Paxlovid  the 4th. Solid quarantine, periodic tests during that time still coming out positive. Major impatience. There were places to go, errands to tend to. Some of those got tended to, albeit masked, where there were low risks of contact. I'm the only driver at the moment.

I needed that x-ray taken care of, and asked if one negative test was sufficient before showing up. I was assured one negative test worked, though the X-ray tech drilled me on any symptoms. There were none beyond the allergy symptoms I've been dealing with for over a decade. (I've lost track.) I popped into the club for a couple minutes, careful to keep a reasonable distance even though being masked. With everybody's reassurances, I went to visit my friend in hospice yesterday afternoon, still masked there just in case, as was another mutual friend. 

I've done a bit of yard work, not enough to tire me out, but enough over two days to add three bags of yard waste to the previous pick-up collection, plus more branch clippings on the ground for another time. Maybe the bunnies can eat some and reduce the load. No weeds were killed however, and two (yes, two!) letters from the homeowner's association dated the same day arrived about them. I'd been waiting for a dry forecast before spraying, but it's been very wet for here. Major storm in Gilbert, a southeastern suburb last night, 63 mph winds. Clouds are building on the horizon in multiple directions again this afternoon. Air is still muggy enough to be uncomfortable, even inside with the AC and fans going.

I postponed calling my swimming buddy to set up a date for the pool, either today or tomorrow. I did give a deputy a tour of the house, letting him know I'd just tested but would happily mask up for him if he was more comfortable that way. He declined  my offer, and spent over a hour int the house.

This morning started out as my early normal. I watched a little TV after waking, went back to bed, got up and watched a bit more, then decided to go over the tiny details I'd need to know for my jury summons Oct. 6th. I've never served, though I've been called up only to find out that we were all dismissed after several hours because everybody settled their cases. I know for this one how early to be there, where to find free parking for jurors, what to bring food-wise unless I prefer to spend serious money in a downtown restaurant, (microwave they have, 'fridge no), and how much walking to expect. I also decided a preventative dose of imodium might be in order. Getting old can be a little too interesting some days to be out in public, eh? "Uh, excuse me bailiff, but I need to leave the trial for five minutes. Right now!" That'll go over well.

I had a breakfast snack, then went back to bed again. I knocked that off to it being a coffee-free weekend, my body catching up, i.e., normal. Around noon I woke again, now with a fever. Getting a working fever thermometer had been on my shopping list, so I know my normal when well is still 97.4. This time it was 98.4, nothing anybody else would raise an eyebrow over besides me and close family. An hour later it was 100.2.

Uh-oh!

The back of the throat was acting up too, that slimy slithery mucus feeling you get with a bad cold. Or what I'd just gotten over with, covid. Definitely time for some fever reducers, and lots of internet research. Yes indeed, this could be that bounce back people talk about after Paxlovid. Somehow I'd felt sure I'd be past that after all this time. But there is one final test in the kit. Time to quit procrastinating, thinking magically if I postpone it the news won't be bad.

Back in a bit.

*     *     *     *     *

Half an hour later.... The test kit was again negative. It claims I don't have covid again. So what do I have? Do I even trust the kit? Is it the rebound, and am I just not contagious? Does anybody in the world know who can tell me before Monday?

Meanwhile I'll be avoiding people again.  Mostly. But lunch has been long delayed. Should I take my next nap before or after eating?

*     *     *     *     *

It was before. And after. The "after" nap lasted to morning, so please excuse if all the references to "today" refer to yesterday. Fever is lower, throat and sinuses still doing their thing, but I'm going to mix some weed killer and head out before it heats up. Then it'll be time for breakfast... I think. Or will I have enough energy to carry on till brunch? Oh heck, let's decide after another nap. It's still kinda dark anyway.

Free At Last! ...Uh, Maybe?

The newest covid tests from Walmart are 1: pricey, and 2: weird.  I've taken enough of the older version that I no longer need instructions. Unfortunately there are no longer any of the older versions that aren't too old. Expired. The new tests took several readings to go through so I could set up and know what should come next and how many times or for how long for each step. But my doc's staff had said to try again Thursday, and this was Thursday.

It was negative. I broke the little tail from the swab off (I did say weird, right?) and packed the test into my pocketbook, headed off to the imaging company for my x-ray... and got turned away again. It wasn't because I only had one negative test. I'd called in advance and asked if that was sufficient proof that I was over it. It was. But they looked up my orders and couldn't find any. Even before leaving the house I contacted the doc's staff and let them know. Before hanging up I was assured she was faxing it right over to them. I even dawdled a bit, popping in to the club first for ten minutes or so to say, "Hi," and twenty minutes later, as the "or so" stretched into, headed to imaging. None of that delaying did any good. The orders hadn't shown up yet. My gas tank was complaining, so I spent some time figuring out the new system our local grocery store has for getting a discount per gallon based on dollars spent in a month, before heading home.

It was still muggier than hell from two day's rain plus the occasional passing sprinkle yet today, all totaling up to about 4/5 inch in the rain gauge. So I came in and killed some time, going over the to-do-once-you-can-see-people-again list. I'd already dealt with the plumber the day before. Weed killer had been purchased, a grocery order delivered. There still were appointments to make and write on the calendar, including a call to jury duty early next month. I finally did the one call I've been putting off since getting home: contacting the sheriff's department to report the break in and thefts. That was before lunch, They said they would send out a deputy. It's beyond supper time now, not that I've eaten. I'm still waiting.

I could have let it slide longer, gone to the vet's office for a new certificate stating that the dog is still properly vaccinated for rabies to renew her license another year. I could have gone to visit my friend in hospice and brought her a couple of those wonderful, juicy Palisade peaches still left in the box in the fridge. I could have called another friend and made pool walking plans.

Maybe they think because I waited to call them until I was no longer contagious for sure that it wasn't important? Maybe there's a lot of REAL crime going on out there, however they define that? There have been a lot of golf cart thefts around here over the summer, and none of them are showing up for sale locally. I do try to avoid most of the local TV who-just-got-shot news, just fast forwarding through for the weather reports, so maybe the deputies are having a really bad day.  

But still.

About two hours ago I had enough. I wasn't about to call them back and listen to their recordings for 13 minutes again just to hear a human voice and get an excuse. I'll do that tomorrow if needed. So I grabbed the hand pruners and took out my frustrations on the thorn tree in the back yard. I'd had it pruned up before leaving so I could walk up close to it without getting stabbed... 83 times from each side. Right now there are a lot of tender green thorns... OK, branches, lying all around under the tree to give the local rabbits a feast for a couple nights before I gather what's left, clip one last time into tiny compactable bits, and bag them to toss in the garbage. Double bag, likely. I do like our garbage crew and would hate to antagonize them. As I left I just made sure both Steve and I had our phones handy so he could call me if/when they showed. As if! 

It's a lovely sunset, time to turn on the house lights, figure out supper, and watch some TV. Maybe that will bring them around, just in time to make supper cold. Ya think?

I'd also really just like to crawl into my comfy jammies and get out of these pinchy scratchy suitable-for-public clothes.  Hey guys...?  Are you coming? I'm not going to shoot somebody to get your undivided attention over here. It's only a fantasy at this point, seriously!

Oh wait! There's the knock on the door, the deputy uniform.... OK, nevermind all the complaints. Dusting powder for prints too? Cool!

SCREWED By Southwest Gas!

There have now been over half a dozen phone calls with SW GAS about their failure to shut off my gas this summer as requested, and billing me for the fact my water heater has still been heating water. I initiated the first ones. Lately the calls have been coming in from them. I'm not going to try to pick which call was about what exactly, but as a whole, here is the final story. Or you can consider the title the spoiler and move on. 

But where's the fun in that?

First, they have determined their failure to shut off the gas initially when requested is actually their recent policy. Blame covid.They start with a "soft shut off" at their office, where the gas still runs in whatever might still be on, like my water heater.  They just shift your bill to themselves during this time. Of course, the bill is only half the reason I shut off the gas while on a long vacation. (Try not to let your house explode while you're on vacation folks. I mean, by then who can afford another motel?)

Then they shift to a hard shut off some time later. In our case, I was told it had been done on July 8. Obviously it hadn't been done, but the paperwork for it had been sent through as a done deal.  Many questions later , looking at paperwork, "possibly" talking to the person responsible for the deed, suddenly a new story emerges. "They were told when they got to the house not to shut it off."

Seriously? By whom? No info on that, of course. It wasn't by me, the only person with a name on that account, 1800 miles away, give or take a few, on the day in question. It wasn't Steve, the other homeowner. It wasn't Rich. This leaves me with two possibilities,  if I choose to believe that story. Either our vandalizing nemesis who now is supposed to be sitting in a federal prison for arson, and who was practicing his "craft" in a variety of small ways inside the house while he was pretending to be Rich's friend, just happened to stop the shut off for his own nefarious reasons like wanting to burn our house down in addition to his parent's house, or the solar installation people were working on the roof that day, mistook the gas company employee for somebody doing an electrical shut off and thought they were doing a good thing. That latter presupposes the gas person didn't use a company truck or wear a company uniform, or the solar people were meddling idiots.

If I choose to believe the alleged story, and not that a lazy employee couldn't be bothered to do their job, it still was not coming from anybody authorized to stop the shutoff I ordered. On the phone at least, I have to identify myself three different ways before they will even talk to me about any details of my account and its history. So I'm really having a problem with an anonymous person claiming the authority to countermand my shut-off order. Something is very wrong with that. Think SW Gas will accept responsibility?

Let's also note that nobody notified me via email, their usual way of contact, that my gas was not in fact shut off, or that the meter was in fact still running because gas was in fact still being used against my  orders. It also does not explain why their system still insisted I needed it turned back on if they knew it hadn't been turned off. I never received a bill which would have alerted me to the issue, not until late August when I got one for two months of use. I was in transit and did not have time right then to call the gas company to figure out what had gone wrong.

Once I did, they had no answers yet but I was advised to pay the bills just to keep in their good graces, and try to get a later discount or refund for their error.

In the process of working to find out why I still had gas on, and why they insisted on coming to the house to turn the gas back on and inspect all our gas appliances, even though they by then realized they had not in fact shut any gas off, and were going through multiple contortions to find an excuse not to come out (which they were only finally motivated to do once I mentioned I still had covid and was contagious, not wanting any visitors inside the house) they still insisted on sending me the email on the previously scheduled return day stating they had been out and completed their turn-back-on task. A known lie of course, which stank of CYA aimed at whoever was looking over their shoulders.

The account had now been declared as being "continuously active" as their only way out of that visit. Thus the final chomp in the ass. And thus their final verdict that I was responsible for paying both months' worth of gas bills. But hey, they were doing me the favor of not charging for the month plus a couple days when the "soft shutoff" was in place.

I was too angry to do anything but hang up on the company stooge who told me that. Mother's training is still holding all these years later. She would have hated hearing everything I felt like saying. It would definitely not have been polite!

If I ever get in a position where I can afford to replace appliances, you can bet I'll be switching to all electric. At least I can flip the proper switches on the breaker box to shut down all but the solar controls, then put another padlock on the cover, the way we handle summer vacation electric use. Then I can also flip Southwest Gas...OFF!

Yard Surprises

We came home to lots of not-so-wonderful (ha!) surprises. I've started getting out in the yard now and finding both kinds of surprises out there as well. The nice ones? Mostly what didn't die. Not so nice? What did, of course. And depending on my mood, the amount of yard work ahead can go on either list. That mood of course fluctuates with the amount of heat out there and whether I feel like going out early in the morning.

Let's end on a happy point, so I'll start with what didn't make it. So far that list is small,  just like the plants were. There were three struggling young octopus agaves in the back yard when we left that now aren't even a dead reminder. At least somebody cleaned up. Add those to the two which died last summer and it means 7 babies remain, in various states of health, depending on how far from a water source they are, even if that source is roof runoff. The original, supposed to die without any new bottom shoots after flowering, defiantly sent out a healthy offset, already bigger than the original when it was two years old.

The blue super thorny agaves planted in a row along the house with the original octopus have both bloomed. The dead first one was removed last year. I cut the blooming stalk of the second one before it bloomed and it is looking healthy. It should be dead too if I understand these agaves at all. Other kinds like ones in the backyard along the fence send out lots of ground offshoots, but these aren't supposed to, kind of a relief from the close contact stabbings from the originals. I haven't checked to see if any babies have emerged from where the first of the blues bloomed, because, frankly, it's just too darn crowded there. With the first dead parent gone, a pair of lantana volunteers took up residence last year. My original intent was to let one live, but I've changed my mind. They need too much pruning, getting leggy awfully fast. Put those on the to-do list.

So far everything across the front yard seems to have survived, especially the weeds.  Soon as it gets cooler, or within 30 days of the next nasty letter from the homeowner's association, they will get removed. I plan to start using a pre-emergent on the front yard to cut those things down. Double jobs for the to-do list. The volunteer prickly pear, emphasis on very long pricklies (spines), has about doubled its number of pads over the summer, but failed to produce successful fruits. There are however shriveled miniature ones needing to be plucked away by a long tool. More for the to-do list, starting with locating a tool to pluck those safely. Hmmm, really, really, really long tongs? Are there any gauntlets on the premises?

The job that just kept gnawing at me since the car pulled into the driveway this month was the ponytail palm. While it's still alive, I've left three years worth of dying and dead leaves on it in order to protect new growth from the four months of hot sunshine they get where it is planted. New growth tends to sunburn after 8 months shade from the house. So with a comfy chair, scissors, and huge bucket, all the totally dead-back-to-the-trunk old leaves and most of the nearly dead ones still clinging stubbornly got removed, either by hand or scissors. This plant has history. I picked it up in Wisconsin when the Walmart there had a sale on multi-trunked ones. Of the ones I bought, this is the one survivor. Its 5 trunks became 4 the first year when I got too enthusiastic about yanking handfuls of dead leaves away and one trunk came too. Root it from the break? Epic fail. That's when I gave grooming it a long rest. There was now way more brown than green on the plant, and it really bugged me. Vowing gentle care to both myself and the palm, I grabbed a chair, a 5 gallon wastebasket, and later a scissors for neatening, and dove in. There seemed to be more trunks than I remembered, making reaching around them to gently to ease dead leaves away a little more complicated in the angles my fingers needed to bend to reach. By the time I moved to the other side, settling my chair  down again and clearing my view on this side, there were definitely more trunks! Healthy ones! One even had two brand new ones branching low off from it. These may not survive, having been completely shaded for their first two inches of growth, but I hope the sun is low enough now that they will. If so, they make ten (!) trunks on this ponytail!  Neglect becomes her.

I did make sure not just to clean up after but to put the big chickenwire cage back around it to keep the rabbits out. After about two years of ignoring ponytails planted in the ground, they decided those actually produced edible leaves. That's how the others died, in one overnight binge. Only one of those got replaced, so far surviving with a little less summer sun than the big one, and inside another really good wire cage. Scratch that job off the to-do list for the done-did-it list.

Last spring I had removed an orange-blooming aloe from the back yard,  after it got knocked over and separated from its roots, bringing it into the front yard but not actually planted, just stuck in a coffee can of potting soil and watered a little here and there. I figured it wouldn't live over our summer away, but stuck the can next to where rain runs off the roof just in case. Today a live aloe got removed from the can and planted into the front garden. This is as hardy a variety as the large yellow blooming ones which thrive there. Rabbit proof as well. (I licked my fingers after working with it and OMG! I wouldn't eat one either!) I plan in cooler weather to dig more out of the solid row of them in the back and bring clumps to the front where they will alternate with the yellow clumps. You'd have to pay attention to figure it out because the oranges ones finish their blooming several weeks before the yellow ones start. Another one for the to-do list.

The red yuccas have bloomed again over the summer, so there are a large number of old flower/seed stalks to clean out of those two clumps. I can delay till the newer stalks have dried out.

Time for the back yard. First thing I saw across the yard was the orange-blooming Mexican bird of paradise bush, spread taller and in a wider fan than I'd ever seen it, entertaining local bees and hummingbirds. To the east of that, my desert willow was just finishing a major bloom. This has only ever boomed in the spring! All four of our ocotillas, though not blooming, were fully green through their length with their small leaves. My totem pole cactus, the only cactus allowed in the back yard because it has no needles to plague any dogs, and started with short stubs from a neighbor pruning back his clump, has gone from 5 little stubs to being tall as our fence - 6 feet - and both branching and sending shoots from the ground.  Note when I say it's the only cactus allowed, our perennial roof cactus which totally ignores my edict,  growing from a crack between the metal sheet patio roof and a front cover sheet of metal, no gutter at all to hold soil or water for it, is back again and as big as I've seen it. It grows where it's hard to get close enough to pluck or cut out but we'll figure it out again. I wonder if salt would discourage it? Maybe next fall I can remember to bring down a small container of brush killer to try. Note: make a to-do list for supplies for the next year's to-do list. Let's hope I haven't quirkily decided by then to keep the damn thing. Imagine if it gets tall and flops over, swinging down and impaling somebody in the process. Put "don't get that quirky" on the to-do lists as well.

My orange bells bush and the red version next to it were in full color and also feeding the aerial neighborhood pollinators, including hummers. Can't prune those back till blooming is finished. I mean, I could, but....

The palo verde and mesquite trees are not only leafed out (microscopically) but much more branched out, so more there for the to-do list. I do try to keep thorny trees pruned to the point where one can approach without getting stabbed. I'm still studying the mesquite, however, because it does not grow with a straight trunk but a series of very horizontal branches going off in nearly right angles in all directions from other branches in other weird directions. It is nearly twice as wide as tall right now. This will be wonderful once it's gained some height, and it's doing a good job now of shading a nice portion of the yard that the dog walks through to get to her favorite bathroom site so I don't have to worry about her burning the pads on her feet. But what to prune where? It could easily turn into a major puzzle tree, with no kids visiting to appreciate it. I see tall mesquite trees out and around the area, nice and tall and looking actually like they might have  consented to a straight-ish trunk in their long distant past, but how? Give that to-do list some study - a great excuse for delay.

Next to the patio two plants have gone crazy. One we nicknamed a pencil plant since all its branches were like fat green pencils, branching, growing tall until curling and flopping over during dry spells, making room for the next tall growth to fight it's way into the light, then flop in turn. Other gardeners call it a slipper plant, with blossoms that are weird little things which manage to produce a drop of nectar to attract hummers, ants, and whatever. Not flowering now, but the clump has spread twice as far out from the edge of the patio as before. We are stepping on it.

The other plant isn't much bigger, just loaded in blossoms or their wilted remnants when we came home. That's the San Marcos hibiscus, a Mexican desert plant that resembles no hibiscus I recognize, and somehow manages to tolerate the tiny winter heat island near the house as good enough. Those flowers are yellow with red or nearly red centers, wilted the next day, later developing into an interesting hard seed pod.

The large pine tree had a good summer, with very few new dead branches, though its usual annual supply of dead needles coats much of the back yard. The dog can't decide if she likes or hates those. Much depends on how wet they are, and since it had rained just before we arrived, and again  a couple days after, it took her a bit to decide again that the back yard was her space. Two years ago I'd hired a crew to blow them out of the back yard, but somebody brought a rake instead. I had to spend a couple weeks raking the rocks back into their border areas in the yard, and noticed just how many of the yard rocks had gotten raked up and tossed out with the needles. Those things are expensive to replace, and as I specifically asked for blowing, not raking, that crew hasn't been invited back. Last summer a friend of Rich "helped" clean up the back yard... with a rake, of course. I hauled one of those yard waste bags of needles to the front for the garbage, and boy, was it ever heavy! Of course more rocks were back out of their designated curved beds and mixed in the rest of the yard. I debate with myself if it is worth putting raking on the to-do list or I should just let the rocks mix chaotic colors.

There is a bush along the back fence which wasn't the one I thought I'd bought, but decided to keep anyway. The plan is to prune it into a more rounded short tree shape. Late spring I'd started pruning  branches way back so they'd branch  out, fill in, and start to behave, but upon our return, they were back to stabbing way out in all odd directions. Much more pruning will be going on the to-do list there. Plus, part of that wild growth is due to the back neighbor getting his irrigation line for his closest orange tree punctured when some hired crew came in and "weeded" the area on his side of the fence.  Our bush I'm trying to shape, as well as a thick coating of weeds which spread from their yard very thickly over a segment of ours, are thriving with the new water supply. Even the pine tree is getting a good daily drink now as the water spray covers a wide swath of the ground all the way to its trunk. They should be back next month and when I see them out and about I'll be sure they know how much water they are wasting. Last year something similar happened to a lemon tree in that yard, resulting in a dead tree from overwatering, along with a venerable old cactus nearby. I wish I had their phone number. These are the same neighbors who shared totem pole cactus pieces with us back when. Weeding that large and growing patch on our side of the fence is on the to-do list, but it'll wait till the water leak is stopped. I'll let the pine have a lovely early fall too. Selfish? Maybe, but what else can I do?

Sure, the list is long. But cooler weather is on its way, I'll be feeling better even than I already am, and by then most of the crap with the house will be fixed as well. 

Sure it will.

A Choice For Hospice

I'm losing my longest term and best friend who isn't Steve. Her decision has been made to enter hospice care, discontinuing all her meds including ones she could be starting now for the latest medical problem. I understand her decision, not just because her much beloved husband has already become a small box of ashes, and not even because these last years of covid have isolated her even more from her large network of friends and have limited visits with family. I understand deciding not to fight any longer, and allow the inevitable in as comfortable a situation as is possible. The following is just part of how I'll always remember her.

We met way back in early 1983, soon after I met Steve, and under the same circumstances of a support group for people dealing with divorce, separation, or widowhood, called We Care. She was a group facilitator, something both Steve and I became subsequently, but I had to branch out to different locations before I landed in the one where she facilitated. We liked each other well enough, but it was probably another year before we really bonded.

That was at one of the workshops the organization held. They'd take a weekend in a different location, and there'd be maybe two a year. I was assigned to the small group she facilitated, continuity through the workshop being important for trust to develop and groups to really work. I had an issue, but it involved a whole lot of mixed negative feelings, and I'd never found a time or place to disclose what it was. In fact it wasn't till years later in actual therapy that happened. But Joan disclosed a secret of her own near the end of the group, and the fact of her doing that let me open myself up to start exploring what I needed to deal with. No, you're not getting even a hint here. I do still keep many people's secrets including some of mine.

From that point on, a friendship formed. I let her know how important what she'd said was for me, and apparently she found something to appreciate in me as well. We both served terms on the management board for the support groups, coincidentally both at different times as recording secretary. We shared a love of gardening, and she shared some of her giant raspberry plants as a starter for me to make a huge patch in my new home. 

We did share one thing that threatened to destroy that friendship however. I dated Bob, another fellow board member, before she did, though she'd been interested in him for a while, something I wasn't then aware of. Eventually his interest gravitated to her, though our breakup took a few months. I'd known it was coming, but wasn't about to shove him out the door if he wasn't about to mean his "good-bye." Once our split was finally final, by his starting to date her, Bob and I were over. Period. Joan and I had a few conversations before she actually believed I wasn't needing to end our friendship over him. Once she moved from Minneapolis to Arizona to join him after a work relocation of his, deciding the distance was too great for their relationship, I happily drove the moving truck down for her, while another friend of hers shared the duties of driving her car for the trip. I'd visit them both when I came down to visit and help my snowbirding parents each year. Bob, of course, later became her husband. Their Vegas wedding was a lot of fun, and yes, I was invited. Bob and I had long since become comfortable friends.

In so many ways I've already lost her. We used to talk on the phone in calls that inevitably lasted an hour or more, despite one or the other of us saying over and over that we had to go. There was always more to say. After moving south myself with Steve, just two towns away, I got used to seeing and talking with her in person twice a month, sitting along a street corner with a group she organized, holding signs to protest for peace, most of us in chairs because of our ages and various infirmities. We'd protest for an hour and a half, then nearly all of the group would clean up and reconvene at a local restaurant for brunch and more fellowship. 

Last time she became ill enough to need a daily check-in, now alone after Bob died, to be sure she could get to and answer the phone and was otherwise OK, I loved the chance to resume our old phone calls. The years fell away to our old friendship until she got sick enough to be hospitalized and her daughter traveled south to live in for a while and take care of her needs in person. We never quite picked it up again. She was needing naps every day and by this time I hated to wake her, never knowing when I might be an unwelcomed interruption to her much needed sleep. Any talks we did have were much shorter, though we did have a couple of in-person visits. Recently she became so ill she needed her daughter to come down again. In the process of dealing with everything now going on in her life, the hospice decision was made. The news comes with deep sorrow, and understanding.

I'm hoping to get a negative covid test soon so I can visit her in hospice in the time she has left. With a discontinuation of her meds, that could be short. I do so want to give her one or more last hugs, and make sure she still knows she is important to me. Her daughter could use some hugs herself as well. 

Me too.

Now About That Break-In

There will definitely be a call to the County Sheriff's office. And the insurance company.  And... well, let's back up a bit.

If you've been keeping up, you know we came home to a break-in, with the sliced screen, the towel on the floor, and old cameras strewn around.  We've discovered a bit of mischief in addition, but all in all, and with fighting covid, I hadn't found reason to file a complaint. But I went to bed tonight, waiting for sleep, and a sudden thought struck me. What if he stole...?

Of course I couldn't sleep. It was a matter of seconds to get up, and without even needing to turn on a light, reach for the pill bottle.... The bottle was exactly where I left it. Its contents weren't. My mother's ring is gone! 

I suppose most people have mother's rings with tiny stones, nothing elaborate, just representations of the love they have for each child by a tiny birthstone.  I came by mine another way. First, my youngest son was into collecting faceted gems at the time, so the two sapphires were gifts from him, 4x6 mm each, and a dark rich blue. Two September babies. The third originally was an opal for my October baby, one I picked up from a fairly inexpensive piece of estate jewelry, the same size but round, not faceted, and with a lot of red in it compared to today's typical market. It was old and fairly quickly cracked in pieces, so was replaced by a deep colored pink tourmaline, another gift from my youngest. 

It was the 18 carat gold metal, the custom setting, and all the channel set diamonds on either side which really made it valuable. Those came to me for almost free. They were in a lost white gold and diamond watch band that after 6 months nobody had ever claimed. The watch itself didn't run, the band too small for my wrist. So I traded the whole watch, some scattered bits of gold, and the three stones for a custom mother's ring. The jeweler who worked on it only charged me another $150. over the value of the gold I turned in for her work.

It had one hitch. The gold was soft enough that three times I needed to replace prongs or risk losing a stone. The third time, last year, I put off that expense, instead keeping the ring in a pill bottle in a pile of clutter in my room. Who'd look there with a huge jewelry chest standing in the room nearby? The jeweler charged me more than I chose to spend right then for the previous repair, and I figured prices only went up. He also appraised the ring formally back then at $4,500. I have those documents. No idea how the value may have changed in the meantime.

In the last few days we've discovered burn damage to some furniture upholstery. Unfortunately the piece is not ours but a lift chair on loan from a local company which furnishes accessibility equipment to seniors who need it, temporarily or longer. We may in fact be lucky no actual fire was started, just a quarter-size hole melted. But we have to call that company, explain what happened, ask them to remove their chair, and see if they still feel charitable enough to replace it. If not, some shopping has got to happen. They may very well decide to judge that we are not fit or responsible enough to receive any more of their assistance. Rich has tried to repair the frayed & broken cord, only to find out that the control box isn't feeding any power to it anyway.

There is one more odd thing in the house since we returned. A black stain is appearing on our living room rug. Now I get a cola or milk stain, crumbs here and there, dog fur and pine needles. Those come away with elbow grease and the right kind of soap and water. This one has the feel and smell of oil of some kind, nothing any of us would have used or brought into the living room. This gives the stain the reek of more malicious mischief. Like the burn in the chair where nobody smokes in the house.

Can we point fingers? Yes, though without proof, which is frustrating. "Tall Paul" we know for some of the mischief in his quest to burn his parents house down. Rich already filled us in on that one. He recently got the info that the Feds did in fact catch up with him and are holding him. Daddy sure ain't gonna pay no damn bail! The alleged motive behind the fire was so Paul could steal Daddy's guns. He was caught trying to sell one of them.

I wonder if he pawned the ring with nobody home yet to claim it stolen? Or just swapped it for something of more value, perhaps affections of his girlfriend, a known thief both to us and the cops.

Since I'm feeling much better, and tomorrow will be 5 days after using Paxlovid, I'm going to try that last covid home test to see if I get a negative. If so, I can not only get that x-ray taken but we can call in the cops and the insurance people, a plumber to get a stubborn drain snaked, and the chair's owners. And fyi, so far Steve has absolutely no symptoms. Hooray!

We have, however, called and cancelled our attendance next month at that out of state wedding, the one at the country club, the one which we were just informed involves a long walk down a hill to get from parking to the festivities. Sometimes life is just too much "fun" for us geezers! And right now, on top of everything else, I just don't trust leaving the house for a week or so.

Why Not To Use "JustAnswer.com" For Pet Help

Our dog got into one of Steve's gummies. She's little, the THC in it for his pain is strong enough to cause her damage. As we later learned, even the possible sweetener in the gummie could have wreaked havoc on her system. Turns out it wasn't that one.  But... I'm stuck home with covid and I need to make her throw up.

What to do? Go online of course.

First info on how-to is giving her hydrogen peroxide mixed with water. I don't keep that in the house. Nor the next thing suggested. If I didn't have covid I could just go buy some. The local grocery store is open already at 6AM, and I could try to treat her myself. Next and last info talks about activated charcoal, and a vet does that.

I locate her regular vet's info and call. I know they have earlier hours than the store does that they are in, but get a recording that they do not open for almost two hours. Next I search 24 hour vets and find one even closer than the regular one, and call to ask my questions: does she need to come in? I get little help from the call aside from them not recommending hydrogen peroxide for vomiting. They can't even tell me how harmful her dosage is for body size.

I search further, and find a site called Just Answer. They claim all kinds of competence and have a 800 phone number, so I call. How do they work? I'm told they charge a $5 introductory use fee. If I wish I can have a membership for just $30 a month. I think it's worth a trial for $5 for questions on just how dangerous her dose of THC actually is, plus other possibilities to make her vomit. I go through the email, phone, and - thinking to be secure - Paypal authorization.

The result to that is an instant warning flashing on my computer screen that they are some kind of scam - I can't recall the exact wording since it was such a shock and so brief, adding this stress to dealing with this emergency and the sudden "what did I just do?" from seeing the announcement. Moreover, my laptop screen had just frozen. I couldn't get in or out of anything. After about three key presses meant to stop whatever, I just hit the power button for a hard shutdown and shut it off for a bit. Now what? Are they accessing all kinds of financial info? Is there new malware inside?

Top this off with a sudden influx of text alerts on my cell. If they want a text conversation we're all screwed.

I finally decided I need to wake Steve. Besides being covid negative, he hadn't taken pain pills yet for the day, so he should be cognizant enough to talk to the 24 hour vet we're going to. He gets up and dressed. As do I, since it's my card the charges will be on. I'll stay in the car. I write down the necessary info, time of the poisoning, type and dosage of what she scarfed. Upshot is a huge bill, a successful vomiting session, and a dog returning home on a "safe enough" likely high for her day.The gummies by then had been given 2 hours to dissolve. She arrived at the car perky enough at least.

Once I turn my computer on again, not opening any of the previous links which were open, my email has messages from JustAnswer congratulating itself on its help and suggesting I can ask them anything again. Time to check my financials, see what I can find out.

There is no $5. charge. There are two $36. charges! One has been denied, the other paid. First, a call to the credit card company to halt that for being a scam. Then online to PayPal to fight endlessly through their system to finally get to type something about those charges being denied due to misrepresenting their cost and signing me up for a "membership" I didn't ask for, as well as not actually getting any service from them.

The following day there was another contact from JustAnswer claiming they had the info for my question. Problem is, besides being absurdly late, it was an answer to another person's question with a different name attached to it. There was another self-congratulatory email on how helpful they were being as well. Later in the day another "answer" came through my email, along with a request to tell them how wonderful they were.

HEY GUYS, IF I RELIED ON YOUR "HELP" MY DOG WOULD LIKELY BE DEAD!

This morning I checked my financials again. There was a $36. charge on my credit card! Quick check on PayPal and it showed the money came in and went out. It also showed a denied charge. As soon as I get less pissed off, I'll contact my credit card people again and see what I can do to get that pulled back, if anything.

But...

I went back online to JustAnswer, and this time Google brought up a version of their site on how wonderful everybody thought they were. Incredulous, I followed that to see what that was about. Bad math at a minimum, it turns out. They claim over 4 stars from people, and would I like to read reviews? Yes. First was somebody calling them a scam, and from reading that I decided I'm lucky if I get off with just $36. There was a lineup of stars like on a Yelp graph, and every one had one star plus a tiny sliver of another. That's 1 plus a tiny fraction on each of 5 questions. Either they are adding all their stars together, which should have them bragging about a high 5 star rating, or they should have averaged their stars to be 1.1 star rating. Considering the one star is what you have to click on in order to even make a rating register, it's effectively a ZERO. Everybody hates you. Other comments include my issues: misrepresentation, overcharging, no actual service.

There was info about canceling the membership. I decided to call that number. I was offered several voicemail options, including canceling. Press that number. Got a series of choices about why I was cancelling. None of them covered it all, so I pressed some kind of a "more info" button. Back to the first recording. They can't even do this well?  This time I decided it didn't matter, pushed a different button. I got a recorded voice giving me a confirmation number for my cancellation which I wrote down, and information that they were emailing me a confirmation. There were two emails, actually, which have been archived. I fully expect another later in the day, self congratulations type, and asking how wonderful they were.

Screw 'em!

Now That Paxlovid Is Done

Well, so far it helped the symptoms ease off. Or at least what it was supposed to do. I have no basis of comparison, thank goodness!!  But I had a couple days needing no naps, a lower fever, less runny nose, and a return of my nose in its proper function. I even think I can taste a few things a little bit. I don't count myself well though.

There is a bit more coughing, kinda like a "regular' cold, where the lungs are the last to get involved. The throat periodically is sore and the voice gravelly. I am also back to needing a daytime nap. I thought to get an actual temperature before the Doc's call, dug out the thermometer, stuck it under my tongue... 106! WTF? It must be broken, sitting in the bathroom in the summer heat after the one window was opened. To be sure, I tried to shake it down. No joy. Shake harder. Still no joy. OK, getting serious, I drew a glass of water from the freezer door, dunked the thermometer in it for a minute, shook... still 106. Good thing it's broken, or I'd expect to be dead.

My doc, via a phone consult, wants a chest x-ray from me. He also supposes I can be out and about so long as there is a good mask involved. So while cancelling my scheduled club business for the day due to both caution and brain fog, I drove Rich a few miles and back, both of us masked. In return, he ran into a store for me for a single purchase. I even tried to follow doc's orders, but they wouldn't give me an x-ray without proof of a negative covid test. (How do sick people get imaging done?) So, back home, go through the process, and wait for it... wait... wait... Dang! Positive again. The second line was fainter than the first test, but still, a definite positive. So I'll check my status again Monday, see if I can get the x-ray then, and if not, call the doc and tell him I'm trying. Meanwhile the home covid tests are running out. I may show up in Doc's parking lot so they can run out and test me in my car. If they still do that of course. And this is before Steve may test positive and need testing either way.

Since I still have it, and they don't do a second 5-day dosing of Paxlovid, I recalled something I heard months ago about when you get covid. The worst damage is supposed to be from the cytokine storm when the body over-reacts. Slowing down or stopping that process takes an easy, cheap, combination of two common OTC meds. Both are generic now. One is Pepsid AC, the other Zyrtec. There are two different ways the body over-reacts and each fights one of them. I already take generic Zyrtec, aka cetirizine, twice daily for allergies. The Pepsid  is now in the arsenal, to take each morning. Otherwise I take my usual meds, except my statin. It can't be taken with the Paxlovid, and Doc wants me to wait an extra day before resuming it. In addition I add an arsenal of vitamins and minerals which Doc heartily approves of, especially now. Lastly, I alternate between Tylenol and ibuprofin to keep the low fever down. I figure I feel as well as I can, considering. And amazingly Steve still shows absolutely no symptoms. 

Close to bedtime, and time to take out the dog. Have to find a minute between rain showers though. We seem to have a band that while narrow is moving along its length so they keep coming. And coming. Hooray! Except for getting the dog out.

Just How Stupid...?

I'm going to presume you've been following the tale of SW Gas not doing its job. If not, a choice: go back and read that to catch up - it's buried in the last two posts - or just understand that the following won't make sense. 

The phone rings. I don't identify the number and it has no ID associated. A recorded monotone voice comes on before I have a chance to say "Hello." 

"This is SW Gas.  We have completed your service call. Thank you for using us. Have a good day."  Click.

I suspect another conversation with them is in order. Another lie, another coverup? I mean, if they never shut it off but are charging me for use, then refused to cancel the service order for turning it back on when "back" on really is "always" on, then said they could cancel, then call to say they completed turning everything on and inspecting everything.... Who do they think they are fooling? Their bosses, to disguise their incompetence? Sure ain't fooling me, even with covid brain fog.

Life With Covid... So Far

Hints of what to come: 

When we arrived home, unloading the car was exhausting. More so than usual. The house was slowly coming down to temperature, about a 30 degree drop from outside in that hot afternoon. I'd haul something in, then sit for half an hour, then go out for the next load. A few things are still in the car, but their final destinations are actually elsewhere. I was so wiped out that much of what I brought in is still in piles around the house. It turns out I had a good reason.

I felt much recovered the next morning, crediting it with the AC catching up the house, and met two friends at the community pool at noon for some pool walking and good conversation. I brought fresh peaches to share that I'd picked up in Palisade, letting them know they'd be fully ripe Sunday morning, the next day. We didn't walk long since I pulled out with a charlie horse, likely from dehydration. I'd had those before, and taking in more water before hitting the pool usually did the job of preventing them. I'm pretty sure I was a little dehydrated from the trip, since who needs al those extra potty stops, but getting back into pool walking takes attention to some details that need repetition to get back in the routine.  We sat along the pool for a while and chatted, despite the heat, before heading home.

Several hours later I began to feel a bit unwell.  I'd had Steve use the wrist technique to inform me of what I already knew. I had a fever. His wrist was cold! Time to go to bed. In this case it meant lying on half the bed. I'd emptied out the clothes I brought south, tossed the dirty ones in the hamper,  but hadn't hung up those still clean. It didn't matter. The fever kept me shivering, what moments I was aware of, for about 4 hours, then suddenly I was too hot. I slept a full twelve hours, interrupted by very frequent bathroom breaks. Lucky mine is attached to my bedroom. Each time I had a drink after, but they ran through in a mere couple hours. The dog kept me company, though I did rouse once enough to take her out to use the back yard. Fair is fair, eh?

Certainty:

Once I woke up for a while in the morning, I dug out the covid test kit. I hadn't had such an awful night for decades. Better know what I'm dealing with. I've watched two of them being used, one by each son when he wasn't feeling well. Both were negative. Both waited the full 15  minutes to be sure there wasn't the second stripe that indicated positive. When I looked at mine after three minutes, it already had two very definite stripes. Still has them days later. Once Steve woke up I informed him of the test and that I was going to the ER for the latest antiviral: Paxlovid.

When I walked up to the check-in window, and was asked what brought me in, I held the test strip up to the window and suggested this said it all. It did. While waiting to be seen, two things surprised me. One, the scarcity of masks being worn. Second, an impatient person being informed that there were in fact no actual rooms to move him to, that they already had people waiting for 24 hours to get in one. What's going on here? More covid peaking again? Sure, it could be anything going on, even just holiday closures of everything else, not just what I was dealing with, but I haven't caught a lick of local news from here for months. Not that anybody is doing much to publish covid numbers these days, so I could only make unfounded assumptions.

Despite how crowded the ER was, I was immediately called back to the triage room. It is nice when they know you are contagious. This is when I first really noticed the brain fog. Ask me a simple question... "Who's your doctor?" ...uh.... Good thing I write a lot of info down. List my symptoms? I would add another to the list of items and another after she was later down her list on the computer. Fortunately, she could back it up and put those in, nodding at their familiarity.

Less than an hour after walking in, I walked out with my new Paxlovid pills, generally only available from hospital pharmacies, a huge stack of paperwork that I'll get around to reading... later, and a warning not to take my statin with them. No biggie there, any time I need to not take something for whatever reason, I just turn the bottle upside down in the medicine cabinet. (Shrugs.) It's a system. I do it with the 5 x a week thyroid pills. Let's not get complicated here while fighting brain fog.

The pills are easy to take. There are two varieties, three pills each time I take them, morning and evening. Every 8:30 that rolls around, as precisely as possible. One card of bubble packaging holds six, or one day's worth. One color of foil is for morning and a different color for evening. Within 20 minutes of the first dose I got this bitter taste all across the roof of my mouth. Never tasted with the roof of your mouth? Me neither, not that I even noticed. This is unavoidable. Only something else in my mouth can cover it up, briefly. I tuck a sugarless cherry cough drop in one cheek, replace it when it's gone, or remove it to eat. So far it's the only downside of the pills, though I was warned about one of the two kinds causing the runs. I guess you have to eat something in order to fall prey to that though.

There hasn't been an appetite. I've not felt actually hungry. I eat due to pattern mostly, with my ability to taste only fading more slowly than smell.  I can have a bit of something for breakfast, then realize around 2 or 3 PM that there's been nothing since. This despite having that crate of fresh Palisade peaches in the fridge, waiting for attention, reminding us we drooled over the very idea of them on our trip down. They are first choice when I'm prepared to eat. There's no way I'm ignoring them. The freezer is full of things totally ignored. Before symptoms appeared Steve & I hit the grocery store for a huge back-home-to-an-empty-larder trip. Masked, of course, because we do. I planned for the peaches by getting a lot of Greek yogurt in honey vanilla flavor, Steve by getting vanilla ice cream. I can almost taste enough of the peaches to not feel totally deprived and pissed off at the timing. Between the fever and low intake, the scale shows me down 5 pounds from our arrival home.

No, I don't recommend covid as a diet plan. I do wonder however what my weight will be once it's over.   :  )

Questions:

I keep wondering how I was exposed to this. I googled how long from exposure to symptoms, and answers seem to vary from three days to two weeks. It's puzzling since there were so few contacts with other people the whole trip. A quick potty break accidentally without a mask and not really meeting anybody? That man who shared the elevator to our room in Nebraska? Some contact before we left Minnesota, even at the bonfire despite being outside and fairly well distanced? Motel check-in clerks were my longest contacts but I always popped a mask on for those.

Then, since I could be contagious for three days before symptoms, who might I have unknowingly shared it with? Steve of course, though he still denies any symptoms and has tested negative... once. But we shared a compact car, unmasked. More distance in the motel rooms, but still not safe enough in the same room that now we know I have it, so we stay masked around each other. He and I both called everybody we actually know I came into contact with, from MN till symptoms showed. My granddaughter informed me not to worry, they all "had the ick". She and the kids are at day care 5 days a week so that could mean whatever the latest head cold combinations of the week were. I warned her to be aware of possibilities.

The questions I'm trying not to ask are the ones about how bad this could be despite Paxlovid, whether there will be long covid effects, how much brain fog can there be? And how do I take care of Steve if/when he gets it? How can he not?

Day to Day:

Everybody's asks how I feel. The first night was worst with the fever. I since was told at the ER to take aspirin or whatever to keep that down, so I do at least twice a day, keeping comfy the rest of the time by getting my PJ top wet and letting it evaporate, spending all my time in one of the rooms with the ceiling fan going. Otherwise, it's the worst cold I've ever had - or at least can remember. Every other cold as an adult has meant dosing myself with all the OTC symptom reducers, and I've gone right back to work. Now I rely on the Paxlovid. Also on being as inactive as possible, including being in the same set of pj's since that first night's fever.

It has evolved a bit in several days. The exhaustion has been easing up, but there is still little energy. One day's accomplishment was hanging up the clothes on the bed. Next day's was... oh wait, I didn't do much of anything else, did I? I did cut my own peaches, though. Wednesday's was driving Steve to the emergency vet with the dog after I set Steve's gummy painkiller with THC where she could snatch them as soon as my back was turned.  (She's in much better shape than my pocketbook, thanks for asking.)  I do take care of my very basic needs, but haven't showered since we came home to a clogged drain, and nobody has poured the stuff in it yet. We have the harsh chemical stuff but want to hit the store for the biological stuff. Who smells anything? I tried and when I can't smell my own stink, the sniffer is dead. Y'all are gonna stay away anyway, right?

The nose started dripping even before anything else, but I just knocked it off to my allergies in this different location kicking back in.  That was Saturday but by Monday the nose was a steady stream, so bad I just tucked a series of tissues under my face mask. Now it's just down to lots of honking and blowing, even now decreasing rapidly. The cough is still there as well, mostly mornings now.

The voice got more gravelly, the throat a bit sore by Tuesday, more sore Wednesday, so I try to avoid long phone conversations. Anything conversations. Unfortunately that isn't altogether possible, both from good friends reaching out, though they understood keeping it short, but then the gas company's snafu raised its ugly head again. I'd asked to cancel the "turn-back-on" visit scheduled for Wednesday, since they'd never turned it off in the first place.  An email reminder of the visit alerted me to the issue, and thus began another hassle. Fortunately, 7/8 of that all became her putting me on hold while she went and consulted with other employees. For a long time she insisted they had to come anyway, and inspect all our gas appliances. I finally gave in reluctantly, but said it needed to be postponed due to my having covid.  She asked when I'd be over it so they could reschedule?  What? Am I God who can tell these things? I pointed out that there are two others in the house who may catch it from me despite precautions, perhaps sequentially, spreading out the time even more. She went away again, returned with a proposed date. I accepted reluctantly, then reminded her I might have to call and postpone further. Again she went away, finally returning with the novel idea that since we were an "open" account since the gas hadn't ever gotten turned off and there was an outstanding bill being disputed, they actually didn't have to come out after all! 

Gimme another three cough drops please. I'm celebrating an accomplishment with a less awful tasting mouth.

Sleep has been the big thing, at least so far. I'm up for a few hours and then it's bedtime again. Sleep comes quickly, and I can even get up for the bathroom and drop right back off. The dog has been patient with me for not taking her out to pee every time I get to go. Her care is all my job right now. Steve is walking as little as possible with his hips now acting up, and the maze between kitchen and patio door is as bad as it's ever been. 

Other complications:

One thing I came home to was a postcard informing me I had to respond right away by taking a survey to see if I qualified for Jury Duty. The projected date is late in October, so I hope to be well past this, including the brain fog by then. Especially the brain fog. I had to go online to register, and the first thing was my ID number. Huh? What ID number? I looked the card over, front and back, not finding one other than an explanation of where to enter it in the online front page and that it needed 9 numbers.  Did they mean the same as my voter ID number, since registering to vote puts me eligible for jury duty? Or my SS? The website offered a chat feature, but it was already Labor Day weekend. I tucked the card in a prominent spot for later attention. Tuesday I looked at the card again, all over, still found no number, went online, found a phone number, and got to listen to a recording which, after 3 minutes, mentioned in passing that the ID number was in the lower left corner of the postcard. Yep. Sure was.  Such a treat, feeling completely stupid, isn't it? Hitting you when you've got covid is a bit below the belt though, doncha think? But I completed their survey, doing my best under the circumstances. One question bothers me, and there was no chance on the form for explanations. How long have I lived here? Is it ten years from when we bought the house and I spent two months here, and barely more the next year? Or is it 8 years from when I retired and we began spending our 9 months here as legal residents? Perjury is involved, after all. I guess if they ask I can explain.

Rich is another complication, well beyond the mess we returned to. Yesterday afternoon he woke me with the sound of vomiting in the bathroom. Extensive vomiting. I gathered myself together, went out to his area to see what was going on, and found him flat on the floor,  clenching himself trying not to move a muscle, in agony over each tiniest move. He was also talking to himself rapid-fire, coaching himself not to move because it hurt too much, trying to figure out why everything hurt except that his hands had no feeling whatsoever. I needed to call 911 and get an ambulance to take him to the hospital. I just needed him to get off the floor and into the living room where the responders could have access to him and get him out of the house first. He had just been mobile.

I knew I couldn't take him with my covid. Steve couldn't drive with his medications. I also knew Rich'd had a recurrence of MRSA just before we arrived but was trying to ignore it because he was trying to get the house together. He had also been unknowingly exposed to my covid by then. I passed that info on the the 911 operator so the squad which showed up did so masked and gloved. They were to consider him positive for both. In their interview of him, it also came out that he'd fallen asleep outside the night before and spent the night in high temperatures. Add likely dehydration to his list, which he'd actually tried himself to remedy by drinking lots of water once he woke up. Hence the vomiting I heard. By the time all the questions had been asked and various vitals taken, the ambulance rolled up and off he went, asking me to bring him shoes when I came to pick him up.

Hmmm, me pick him up? With covid? More, I'd looked for his shoes and not found any. A different issue for a different day, obviously. And now solved already by a friend of his.

I'd talked to him a bit after we'd just gotten home and he'd mentioned that he was one of the very rare people who had their MRSA travel to the inside of a bone and lodge there, plotting. I know plenty of people who get MRSA over and over and it is presumed it's hiding out somewhere in their bodies. However, last time in the hospital for him this last summer, he was informed that of the few people with his condition, less a third live past ten years with it. 

He's obviously very encouraged by that. /s

I checked in with him this morning and his main issue was they weren't feeding him properly. He wanted to get OUT! Ironic, since he doesn't feed himself properly either. When he came in his white blood cell count was 20,000. This morning, on continuous IV antibiotics, it had changed, but by going up to 33,000! Note that 11,000 is the top of the range for what is considered normal. He says once they can figure out which antibiotic works, he can come home on pills. Since he is known at this hospital for previous MRSA, you'd think they would hit him with their best stuff right away. Or have they already done that?

Heading Home Day 5

Steve agreed that should I wake up at, say, 4:00 and want to head out for home, he wouldn’t mind, no matter what his back said. I did, and he didn’t argue. Again those valet carts come in handy. He’d sent me down the hall the night before for ice for his insulated mug, and it didn’t clink any more. Thinking the cubes melted, taking off the lid revealed instead it was now a solid chunk. Great to pour Coke, and later tea, over for his entire trip and longer. We ate more of the cinnamon loaf, did all the usual things to get out of there. Except for one thing. Walking the dog waited until the car was filled, the key cards dropped off, and I drove over next to the doggy area and let her out. It turned into a challenge because they water the area thoroughly overnight, and she hates wet feet almost as much as a wet belly from tickley grass. I was just more stubborn than she was.

It took a full two hours plus for sunrise, so most of our starting view was black. Looking out the car windows one could see lots of stars, just nothing as spectacular as our previous visit when we saw the center of the galaxy from up in Arches. I might have looked closer but that's a bit difficult to do while driving on a highway! The down side was every third driver - I kid you not! - had their high beams on and seemingly had forgotten how to change them, even when I turned mine down first. Hint hint. At least the road was well striped so I could tell where not to drive. Once it hinted at lightening up, all the lovely scenery was mostly known by being a darker border to the road than where the black sky was.

Eventually we could pick out the eastern horizon, then cliff walls on the opposite side of the car, even determined that a long row of red flashing lights must be a wind farm, not that we could see any blades. Other  vehicles finally got less obnoxious even while keeping their brights on. Colors returned to the landscape we drove through, buildings appeared, and we were again tourists, just without stopping. However, there was this one little town where I pulled over and Steve and I finished off the cinnamon loaf. Still too tired to do any real food prep, never too tired to enjoy cousin Joanie’s.

The major part of the rest of the trip was increasing heat. Territory was more and more familiar, and we just kept on going. A couple of dog stops yielded very little. The conversation shifted to what we would find once we arrived. A mess? Was Rich sick again? Was he even home to help unload?

"Yes," "Yes," and "Not exactly" to that last question. He was cleaning the bathroom for us. He thought he’d get a start on it before we got home, like a couple days ahead of our arrival. Oops. Wrong timing. Everything  else was total chaos. Other people’s stuff filled the living room and the lanai, plus the walkway into the front door. Steve’s chair wasn’t working because the chair ate the power cord in its mechanism, something that it started just before we left. No blame there. No clue whom to blame for the burn hole in the upholstery either. But Steve needed a comfy place to sit and right now. He accepted my offer of using my recliner: not a lift chair, but has a good footrest to ease his legs. He also loves that he can lie almost flat when it's stretched out.

That was just the start. The AC had already been turned on for us, but he hadn’t taken out the No Pest Strips first and opened windows to air out. While I was doing that, fuming all the while, I noticed my bath towel was in a heap on the floor under its bar. Not how I left it! Closer exam showed two cuts in the screen of the window above the towel bar right where fingers could reach in and release the clamps holding the screen in place, the window left open an inch, and heat blowing in to cancel any effects of the AC. So our cleaning up had to account both for his messes and a break-in, badly hidden. I looked around, and while I haven’t completed that yet with everything else, I noted my older cameras not taken on the trip were scattered around the bedroom floor. Must have been too old for the wannabe thief. No charged batteries either. 

The kitchen floor was a maze to try to navigate, including the dishwasher door open with lots of - presumably clean - dishes inside to put away. All Rich’s, of course, with more unwashed ones all over every counter and stove surface, plus in the sinks.

I took about four hours to unload the car, and unpack the little that I found energy for. At that time I just figured the heat was wearing me out, not that that had happened before to that extent.  Steve turned on the TV and had a nice long chat with the DISH representative to find out what happened to our broadcast channels. By next morning things with the TV seem back to normal and Steve caught a bass fishing contest.

His chair still isn’t fixed, but now there is a story about why. A “friend” I refer to as “Tall Paul” to distinguish him in conversation from both my other son and another Paul who stops by here occasionally, looking to help out for a handout, had been "apparently friendly" again with Rich over the summer.  (We'd had to chase him off along with his thieving girlfriend last year at threat of Steve holding a gun while also on call with the sheriff's office) “Friendly” included borrowing Rich's soldering iron as well as using most of Rich’s supply of solder. Once he’d returned the iron it kept shorting out so Rich couldn’t fix the broken wiring for Steve’s chair. Considering it's a holiday weekend, we can't get other assistance with it so Steve's keeping the use of my recliner.

We’re still not done with the story, however. Apparently the borrowed iron was just a test run for Tall Paul burning his parents’ house in Sun City down. The Feds are now looking for him, per Rich, a good thing for us to know should he stop by again. Rich’s returned iron didn't short out enough and for long enough to start a fire either there nor here either, though it came pretty close while he was using it. The chair task is interrupted indefinitely in order for Rich to try to fix the soldering iron, at least enough to make it safe for use. Like I said, Tall Paul's abuse of Rich's iron was a trial run for the real thing using a different iron, which did short out for long enough to destroy that house. Rich believes the one Tall Paul returned in bad shape was meant to start a fire here as well when Rich used it. Rich is being very careful with using it inside so it doesn’t short out our wiring or whatever, so he mostly goes outside to work on it in the 111 degree heat or whatever it is at any particular moment. (That developed into another saga for another day.)

I had a few phone calls of my own to  make. I’d gotten a gas bill for the time we were gone, even though I’d called ahead for it to be shut off the day we left. $65.00 and change! They never shut it off and  the water heater kept heating, along with who knows what else over the summer. I found out over the phone how the system works on a shutdown request. It's supposed to start with a "soft shut down", where any use the first month is billed back to the company until they come out to shut gas off at the meter. No billing is done with the gas shut down, and once we return they send a technician to the house, turning it back on and checking out every single appliance which uses gas before they leave the premises. Any problems, and they don't fix it but yellow tag it until the appliance has been fixed or replaced. That's why we had to replace our wall oven last year. Problem now was the guy who was supposed to disconnect the gas hadn't actually done it, but sent the paperwork through. I had ordered the turn on weeks ago for next week, and now told the guy on the phone that he could cancel that as not necessary anymore. I wasn't in the mood to pay for an unnecessary service call.

DUH!

Then we got to discussing whether the tech who didn’t do his job but claimed he did was doing that to other customers, was still employed by the gas company, and finally, just how much of that undesired bill was I going to have to be responsible for paying? Phone guy went away for several minutes, then said it was "to be determined." By that I suppose the person authorized to decided those things has already started his/her Labor Day weekend or is just too busy trying to get out of there to do so, and will put this issue in a stack to come back to. However, the bill alerting me to the problem is asking to be paid by the 19th. I like keeping a good relationship with our utility companies. I hate them collecting late fees if they do not in fact get back to me before that final date. We decided I’d call the company on the 18th, see what was happening now that their error on this account has been recorded, and find out what, if anything, I actually owe.

One call down. Now my pharmacy. I’m supposed to be able to fill prescriptions in other branches of this national company while I’m traveling, especially since the insurance companies won’t pay for refills until a certain date past the last one. They also won’t let me fill one in advance to hold me through the summer while traveling: they're national, right? Fill them up north. One of them never did get filled, my blood sugar test strips. So I quit testing quite so regularly. The Wisconsin pharmacy’s excuse was that the store was being audited (by Medicare?) at the moment, a moment which lasted at least through the summer, and it was very very difficult to fill that particular scrip. Naughty people fill their prescriptions and don’t test themselves, instead sell those very pricey strips ($80+) to others. Now I’m one of those people who doesn’t test every day, stretching the remaining ones out. Good thing my levels have been pretty good. My AZ pharmacy person went away, looked stuff up, and said I could stop by in a couple hours to pick them up.

I very politely explained I  had just driven 2060 miles this week and I was in no way adding the ten or so to go to their pharmacy that night. It was bed time! No arguments! Oh wait: where did I place my bedtime pills at? And Steve’s?

Next day, of course, my covid started, though I didn't recognize it as that. That's for the next post. I didn't get out to the pharmacy, of course, just to the ER for a different, more important scrip.

Heading Home, Day 4

We had intended to sleep in since we didn’t need to rush into the park before permitting was required. My bladder and noisy neighbors at 4:15 AM said differently. Seriously, who considers it proper to make noise that early? But after two days in one location, we were disorganized, spread out all over. My phone needed charging, it told me when I checked it for the time. As long as I had all those distractions from sleep, I may as well make the most of it. Besides, there was leftover pizza for breakfast! Bless motel mini-fridges.  Plus we’d been sent off with two loaves of fresh bread, homemade by the cousin, one including some fresh Palisade peaches, a real Colorado treasure. Anybody remember what fresh peaches used to taste like before they had to last long enough to ship everywhere? We’re planning a stop there today on our way to Moab to get our own box of fresh ones. There’s enough room in the car now since we’ve been eating the food we brought from Minnesota.

We got out of the motel around 7:00 AM or so. That’s pretty much sleeping in for this trip. Our cousin had suggested one route for heading south, but Steve & I discussed it and nixed it. It meant driving through Greeley again and there were a lot of those jolting bumps on that piece of road which are what hurts Steve’s back the worst. Even though I-25 was under construction, and by the time we’d be down the mountain via Thompson Canyon it would be full rush hour, it would be both shorter and we’d miss a known bad idea. As it turned out, this late in the season the construction was mostly over and basically we had a mile of it. Period.

Once on I-70 out of Denver it was uphill all the way, basically, to Vail Pass. They added a lane in places where it was steepest and I got caught behind a large truck doing 45 or slower most of the time, while everybody whizzed by too fast to safely pull out even if I wanted. For a bit everybody was down to 30, all 3 lanes, But I wasn’t going to bother pushing it. Despite that, in one spot the “check engine” light came on. Usually that makes me panic just a little, but experience in the mountains has shown me that it just means I’m pushing it too hard uphill. I did fill the tank with a higher grade in anticipation that morning but this was still too much, loaded as the car was. Experience has taught me that flatter terrain and another gas-up usually resets the light to “off.” (Note: next gas addition, it did go away.)

One thing I had been seeing, and there were several of them, were the letters “f j b”  across a lane of pavement, sometimes in the park, sometimes on the freeway. Nobody explained them to me but I’m afraid I know already. Lotta right-wingnuts out there. I just wonder how they found the time between vehicles to paint them so legibly and have them dry without tire treads running through.

The route was beautiful, and I had time to enjoy it. One exception was driving past miles of forest fire damage before Glenwood Springs. Having heard how bad it was last year in TV reports still hadn’t prepared us for the reality.  There were lots of huge swaths of orange pines with black trunks, meaning they hadn't been left to burn totally, while there were other patches of just black poles.

We did get several views of the Colorado River, though we noted that the water levels in it dropped as we went downstream. Obviously local communities are pulling from it. By now, well past Vail, it was downhill all the way until hitting Utah. But first was a stop in Palisade to buy a box of their famous peaches. Yes, a whole box. And maybe do it again next year, if we come this way again. I was informed these were picked three days ahead of full ripeness, so Sunday morning we’ll have our first bites. Then into the fridge, some for the freezer, a couple for friends. You bet we’ll be stingy! Twenty pound case, $50. The case went on top of the back seat stack behind me. Soft duffels go behind Steve's seat and the dog sits on those, sleeps or looks out the window occasionally. I joked with Steve that I’d better drive safely or that case would slide over and kill the dog!

I had to keep watching the gas gauge.  The level just wasn’t going down like I thought it should. OK, driving slow uphill, long miles of practically coasting downhill, and premium gas to boot. I guess it figured. We could possibly reach Moab on a single tank, over 436 mils plus side stops, but I chickened out and put two gallons in before we dropped off I-70 in Utah to head south. Turns out we didn’t need to but I wasn’t sure of exact distance left to go. I checked my mileage and found  I’d been getting for this leg of the trip over 43 mpg! A new record for this car, including times it had only been me inside it and it wasn’t loaded with luggage.

We arrived speedily at our motel after enjoying a whole lot of scenery, and got tucked in.  I don’t even remember having any supper, I was so wiped. Steve and I did share some precut slices of cinnamon bread his cousin had just baked for us, so I guess that counts, but the mac & cheese packs were still intact the next morning. I do recall unloading half the car onto one of those valet carts to take upstairs. It was tricky with a dog who it turns out is afraid of elevators, and the people and - horrors! - other dogs in them. I also  had to take her across a very large parking lot diagonally to the corner doggy doodoo spot. At least she obliged. 

This motel required me to sign a form saying I understood she was not to be allowed up on the furniture. Seriously? Furniture is her home, her goal in life, and her bed is under the sheets/blanket next to me, all night. My hack for that one was to brush her thoroughly and repeatedly with my hairbrush in hopes of eliminating any of the evidence before it could be spotted the next morning, resulting in a mouse sized clump of doggie fur. Like me, she didn’t eat her supper (aside from her dental bone.) At least she took it back to a corner under the table instead of on top of any furniture. We’d already taken the precaution of pulling back the totally white bedspreads and folding a sheet down over them, so no little black hairs. If they found black hairs on those they'd know and charge a "high cleaning fee." With the thermostat a bit higher then usual, we both slept under single sheets very comfortably. Excuse me: we three. I inspected my sheets in the morning to find that the few hairs there were tiny and fine. I knew where to look, and tried to brush them away with wet fingers, usually a good tactic for picking up stray hairs. I came away with dry fingers and high hopes the housekeeper wouldn’t notice. I had my excuse ready: she sheds on us and we were the only ones in the beds. You know, transfer, like on forensic TV.

Heading Home, Day 3

While we were allowed a bit of extra sleep, we still decided to get up and out as early as possible so that we could be sure of getting parking up at Bear Lake before the lot filled up. Now that I knew the correct route, we entered the park a minute after 5:00, surprised to find nobody at the main entrance station to take our fees - or in our case, show our senior free entry cards.  Driving the short extra way to the official "Bear Lake"  section of the park entry station, we were rapidly followed by idiots with their high beams on. Outside was totally black, so I get using them when nobody is around you, but if you come up behind me with brights on, unnecessary because I'm already lighting up the road ahead, I'm now half blinded, and I slow down even further than the speed you consider it your right to travel at. One passed me despite a double yellow road stripe. The next one made it impossible for me to accurately see the road markings for the turn in before the second entry station, and I wound up starting in on the out lane. Fortunately there were neither a separation in pavement so moving over was simple, nor anybody exiting.

The Ranger was at that station, very friendly, and looked at the back of my camera display at the screen shot from my email confirmation, all he needed to let us through. Fortunately he delayed the vehicle behind me for long enough for us to totally clear his lights for the trip up the mountain. We pulled in to one of  the handicap parking spots and waited. A few walkers were heading in, equipped with walking sticks, jackets, and flashlights.  As I was interested in photography, we sat and waited, chatting. Apparently lots of others had the same idea I did as to when was a good time to enter. There was a sudden mass exodus from cars. Chilly as it was, I popped on my windbreaker with a hood, grabbed my camera, and went in. 

It was frustrating getting the colors for the first 15 minutes, since light though it was, my camera still insisted on flash. The results were a combination of washout from flash and dark background. Then suddenly I looked up. The oncoming little clouds from over the mountain across the lake were a combination of grey and orange. Adjusting the camera for where it's light source was, I could fool it into registering the orange instead of its default sky = white. After several of those with different trees framing them, I looked down again and found the prize of the day. Do any of you "old" photographers remember the saying about the way to take good pictures? "F8 and be there!" With digital cameras I can't vouch for the F8 part, but I certainly had the "be there" part down pat! For about ten minutes the sun had risen enough to light up the far peak and light was easing its way down the far slopes, the orange part still very much there. But that wasn't the shot! The lake had turned orange! First it was near shore where the reflection reigned, then gradually farther away so distance shots took over, and finally more clouds glided over and killed it, even had the orange of earliest sunrise remained.

There was no way to top that! I returned to the car, elated. I'd not seen anybody else paying attention to the colors, just heading around the lake busily so they could knock one other task of their daily jobs list. I have a friend who says of my photos that I see things others don't. This was a perfect example.

It was time for us to explore further. With full light now, we could see the mountains around us were a combination of sharp jagged edges and rounded, carved bulges. It was an obvious glacially created valley. In fact the river heading down is called the Glacier River. At a pullout a short way down, I got out and climbed down a short path to an overlook. Steve told me later I freaked him out because if I fell or something there was no way he could do anything, including driving, with the pain meds he was on. He couldn't see the actual path, nor the crossbuck fencing near the edge of the drop, nor the stones sticking up in the path to stop a possible slide before it went more than a couple inches. He likely saw the pine twigs low on their trunks that I did grab just for balance in uneasy footing, but it didn't allay his fears. 

Once at the overlook, straight across were sheared flat rock faces that had aged to orange, and below around a corner was a view of the river itself, loudly audible as it rushed over series of rapids. One spot provided an early bit of fall color - orange again, seemingly the theme of the morning. There was a path continuing along the safe side of the fencing, and of course, since obviously idiots needed them, signs warning not to lean on the fencing or go past it. It was only a hundred foot drop or so.

After returning to the car, we continued down to several spots where we were closer to the level of the river, with openings in the foreground so Steve could shoot from the car: rapids over and around huge boulders, in spaces between bends in its path, through deadfalls. One road into a campground crossed the river and we went in and shot next to the bridge. A little further a bunch of people were pulled over, out of their cars, staring and pointing up the mountain on the opposite side of the road. One couple had a camera lens so huge that she had to carry it while he took pictures with a different one. We asked, because this configuration of tourists always, ALWAYS, means a wildlife viewing, what was up there? A bear! But gone now, of course, and cars were leaving, waiting for us to quit blocking their way. Like the old saying goes, you just gotta be there. We weren't.

By this time, Steve's back was acting up so badly that he needed to go back to the motel and lie down. Since we had gotten the permit, we - or I - could enter again any time that day, not just our 2 hour window, because the ranger who checked us in gave us a special pink card for the windshield showing the date was covered. After over an hour lying down, Steve suggested I go back in alone, as he didn't feel like anything besides lying down. Maybe I even wanted to try Trail Ridge? We discussed the time I needed to be back so we could head out to meet his cousins, down the mountain and three towns away for pizza, and I headed out again.

This time the entry station was a full 10 minute wait while they had two ranger stations open funneling cars through. As soon as I got to mine, she just leaned out her booth window and with a smile said, "Welcome back," and waved me through. Once in I picked up my drive where we had left off, shooting interesting trees and streams, giving the dog a walk so she wouldn't be left in the car. That would be stressful enough later in the evening while we went into the restaurant. I got photos of a couple favorite spots, the kind where they are generally filled with cars and people climbing rocks, the kind where I'd have to wait long minutes for them to clear out so I could get my shot. The waits for them to clear were much shorter this time, which seems to show that the permit entry system is doing what it's supposed to. (It's still a major pain!) In the whole time I never saw the usual animals we see there. Last visit there were all kinds of elk, a mother and baby moose, a solitary bull moose, coyotes, and a bighorn ram on a cliff top. I did happen this time to catch a mediocre shot of a gray jay. There were the usual small squirrels, never in camera range of course.

As for Trail Ridge, I never made it up there. I haven't for years, since before I got my heart properly fixed. Last visit the trail was blocked off partway up. Thankfully it was the one spot which had restrooms. This time I only got to Many Parks Curve, the first major pull out. While I felt fine while there, though tired from the walk to and from parking, I'd felt a bit "off' on the drive up, and decided not to head further up. Not sure I could call it shortness of breath, but I didn't want it to get any worse. After hitting a couple other spots back on the low part of the park, I returned to the motel and Steve. That was when we decided we weren't leaving by heading out over Trail Ridge in the morning.

After a bit of rest, we headed down Thompson Canyon to meet for pizza. We all had a great time... except the dog. She wasn't allowed inside the restaurant, and sat in the back seat with the windows opened a couple inches. Temperatures were perfect for it. Heading back up the canyon it was dark and again we had issues with traffic with high beams, this time oncoming around curves. The curves were so short there wasn't time for me to turn mine on and then off again so as not to flash oncoming cars, even as a hint. I didn't understand anybody's need for them as the road is well provided with bright new striping and lots of reflectors on the sides. I put up with it as well as I could, but one particularly high pickup just had such egregious lights that I reflexively flashed my high beams it him just before he passed me. Yes, I know. I never do that. But this time I did. Mea culpa. 

Of course we returned well after the elk herd had gone through, so it was just time for bed and trying to get a decent bit of sleep. And put the leftover pizza in the fridge for breakfast! We also had a gift of two loaves of bread, one peach, the other cinnamon swirl, generous on the cinnamon and sugar, also recommended for refrigeration just because. Bending the pizza box to fit the tiny fridge was a triumph of logistics.

Heading Home: Day 2

Somehow loading the car was easier than unloading it. Once off and running, we nixed the idea of getting gas and breakfast where we were and decided to head west and tank up - in both senses - later. So of course that meant gas was $.30/gal. more expensive.

We finally found a section of the Platte with some water in it. And refreshed some memories of a previous trip where just west of Odessa, Nebraska,  the fields between the freeway and the river had numerous turkeys and deer out feeding, just like we were seeing now. The major difference was this was breakfast for them, while previously it was dinner time. Either way, the sun was very low to the horizon.

Heading down I-76 into Colorado was pretty much more nothingness. This trip I eventually noticed we hadn’t seen any oil wells like I remember from previous travels.  There were miles of wind farm lining the western horizon however. Had Colorado gone greener since our last trip through? Perhaps not, as once we hit 34 heading west there were clusters of them pumping away, not well spaced like we’d seen before, but lined up side by side by side, as  many as 7 or 8 together. Dang!

Air quality was definitely worse than previous trips. I remember back in ’85 on a family trip that our first glimpse of the Rockies was at Brush. A more recent trip hid them until Fort Morgan. Today we were coming out of Greeley before seeing their dim outlines, and they were still fairly obscured  as close as Loveland! It was a south wind, and apparently all of Denver’s air had arrived here.

We got gas in Greeley, figuring away from the national park it would be cheaper. Mostly gas was $3.66 / gallon, but we found a station for $3.49 and filled up. Prices in Loveland were even worse, but Just as we hit Estes Park we saw $4.49. We didn’t need any of course, but something to remember before heading out after two nights here. We’d be up and down the mountain before heading over Trail Ridge.

Rocky Mountain has instituted a new restriction for entrance. You have to contact them for a permit letting you in within a two hour window. It’s more complicated than that but either you get in before 5:00 AM or you need that permit. I’d been trying for a couple weeks, online, their recommended way. First the advanced slots were all full. However, 130 were reserved to go on sale at 5:00 PM the evening before you wanted to get in. I’d been trying to log in on my account (turns out I had one I forgot ever setting up!) but even though I’d actually written down username and password at that long ago time, the site didn’t recognize me. I was using the wrong password. WTF? Would I like to reset my password? Sure. Clicked the link, enter new password, send. Trying again, I was informed I had the wrong password. WTbloodyF ?!? Try again. Same non-result.

I pored over the information on the website. It had some conflicting information, but eventually one thing stood out. If I got into the park before 5 AM I could wander the park at will. One special section, Bear Lake Road, I had to be inside as well as the park as a whole by the deadline. This would mean getting up before 4 in order to dress, walk the dog, reload what was needed into the car (with a two night stay we could leave most belongings in the motel), and be sure to check in the park gate and get past the special section entry, all before 5. This had to take into consideration the elk. They wander through town, sometimes block roads, and could very possibly slow us down. Yes, they might be sleeping at that time, but who knows?

Then there was locating the right entrance, the one closest to the special section so I didn’t have to drive through half the park to get there. A trial run was in order. I’d pored over the maps and thought I knew which turn was needed where. I’d come out that entrance once years ago, on Hwy. 36, but never gone in any way besides Hwy. 34. So before checking into the motel, since we had time before we could anyway, I started navigating through town. Yep, there was the 36 sign, across from McDonalds. Now, look for it to bend and go into the park. Wait, what? We’re down by the big lake instead of finding that turn into the park? Oh, that was east 36! Find a U-turn, head back, reconfigure. Good thing I wasn’t trying to do this at 4AM in the dark, right? A little navigating, signs found, and we arrived at the visitor center just outside the entrance. I had a nice consult with a ranger on staff, made plans to try that 5PM phone call later, and see if we could get an extra hour morning sleep.

Once in our motel, we were pretty exhausted. I had Steve set his cell phone alarm for 4:58 PM and got ready for what I’d need. I was told to expect a bit of a time kill in their voicemail system, and the ranger wasn’t fibbing. First their recording couldn't understand which park I needed their assistance with since they are a private national system doing these arrangements. After three hard fails, I remembered the old trick of saying “representative.” Apparently even those have specific parks and attractions they deal with, but I managed to get put on hold for the right one. The estimated 5 minutes became 45 before a human answered, and at first the connection was broken up. But when I went and stood by the room’s patio doors, we had clear communication. Miracle of miracles by then, considering how many people were going online to do what I had to do old school, they had openings left at 5AM. I’d figured, not only did I really want to get in as early as possible, but fewer other people would even consider being awake at that time, so we stood a chance.

By the time I’d gone to bed, and was just drifting off, I was roused back to full awareness by a high pitched bugling sound. Elk? At motel check-in they’d mentioned a herd usually passed through the grounds in the evening. It was worth getting up for. The bugle repeated a couple times, and I pulled the drape back. A herd of about 30 or so was coming down the hill from the highway, lots of does with this year’s young, over half grown, a couple or more young bucks with one to three points per antler, no competition for the big guy. Keeping them corralled, jostling along the stragglers with its bugling, was the head buck, a rack needing to be seen to be believed. Some time I’ll review the photos and video and count the rack’s points.

The bugling brought all the checked-in guests out of their rooms to watch and take pictures. My camera tried to insist it needed flash, but I did get a couple minutes of video of the herd passing between our door and the pond perhaps a hundred feet away. A few does just walked right into the water, either to drink or for a cooling bath, much to the bull’s frustration. After they passed they ambled though a gap in the fence onto the adjacent golf course, an apparent source of tasty grass. (I noted the next morning the gap in the fence had a sign posted  that for safety reasons only golfers were allowed on the golf course. Did they need their clubs to keep the elk away?)  Our bugler vented his hormones on the bark of one of the trees on the course, knocking a 4 foot branch to the ground in the process. We could watch the herd on the golf course for a while out our rear window, and Steve got to watch for a while and be able to lean on the bathroom vanity at the same time. His back by then kept him from any extra effort like stepping outside to watch the herd go by. Eventually it darkened enough that we couldn’t follow the herd any more, and the bugling became fainter and farther away. The herd was getting ready to sleep and so should we.